Sigworth

Sigworth cowered behind a hazardous cluster of rocks. From here, he could see the events which were taking place quite clearly. He had been remarkably lucky. If he had not stopped to gaze in wonderment at a blooming batch of colourful Fogflops near Mellomdale Meadow he would have been right in it.

He watched in alarm as a multitude of Trunglers oafishly attempted to break down the lovely red door of his lovely little home. It was a sight almost too much to bear but it was, fortunately, a sight that Sigworth was prepared for.

He felt around his neck for the locket (actually, Boffwunglers do not have what we call a neck, only a non-descript area where the head meets the rotund body). He opened it just a fraction, just enough for him to sit tight on the knowledge that inside that locket lay a scrap of paper, inscribed in the tiniest letters, with his secret recipe. He hoped that he had thought of everything...then he remembered. He shook his head in disbelief. He suddenly wished he had not done what he did yesterday.

Sigworth did know, of course, that Tolita had no idea of his alternative occupation. Nor the Trunglers for that matter. Yet he was glad that he had the good sense to take all, well, nearly all, the evidence out with him. If she got her meddlesome hands on it, it would be worse than handing it over to the Mumtwips. Sigworth shivered. No, maybe not.

‘He’ll be in the chamber for this one,’ his thoughts returning to the real reason Tolita’s army were invading his home.

He made a mental note to give his cave-mate another bottle of common-sense seeing as he had plainly lost his.

Sitting on the outskirts of events, Sigworth began to ponder. What was Ponkle up to and exactly why were the Trunglers playing tiggy-off-ground instead of thoroughly searching the cave? Activities easily confused, obviously.

Lost

‘Where are we?’ enquired George, sulkily taking in the new surroundings.
It felt like a great expanse of time had passed since they had been in the comfort of her bedroom yet she could not remember how they had spent it. She must have slipped into sleep during the journey. She wondered where this place was.
‘Home,’ replied Ponkle, who was studying each of the un-inviting tunnels which branched out from the underground cavern in which he stood.
‘Well, I haven’t a clue where I am and I’m certainly not about to run off. So would you mind putting me down now?’ said George frustratedly.
‘Oh, yes, sorry,’ said Ponkle, gently placing the girl down on the hard, rocky ground.
Ponkle paced around the cavern, surveying each possible route. To be honest, he hadn’t the foggiest where he was either. Of course, he came this way home regularly. What had really thrown him was that this was the first time he had returned in daylight and the sun was sending dusty rays streaming through the crevices in the white rock, illuminating the mass of tunnels, twisting this way and that - and this made one sorry looking Boffwungler very confused.

I spy

‘Sausages?’

‘No, not sausages! Where can ya see sausages in ‘ere?’

‘Dunno....give up.’

‘Can’t give up! Only ‘ad one guess!’

‘Um....’

‘Come on! ‘S’ Somethin’ beginnin’ wi’ ‘S’!’

‘Sunflowers?’

‘Soup?’

‘Sheep?’

‘No, no, no! Y’aven’t got the ‘ang of it...ya’ve got ta be able ta see it!!’

‘Oh!’

‘Oh!’

‘Right!.....Sandcastles?’

‘That’s it. I give up wi’ ya! Ungry, you have a go..’

‘I spy, wi’ my three eyes, somethin’ beginnin’ wi’ ‘Q’.’

‘Quibley!’ shouted Quibley.

‘Arhh, not fair! How d’ya know?’

‘Well what else in ‘ere begins wi’ ‘Q’ stupid!’

Ungry started sulking. He never had been very good at that one.

‘Better luck next time, eh!’ laughed Ubwig, nudging him.

Ungry, Ubwig and Quibley shared the same work-bench near the back of the chamber.

‘Right, someone else choose one,’ Umpwiffle’s voice sailed the length of the room.

Umpwiffle’s bench was at the opposite end and he was lucky enough to have one all to his self. Although he didn’t consider himself lucky as he liked a good natter at the best of times to take his mind off the job in hand. There were eighteen rows of benches in all, each occupied by as many Trunglers as could be spared that day.

It had been a dull, uneventful morning and they were running out of games to indulge in, mainly because Trunglers are a race easily bored.

Ungry grumbled at the choice of entertainment as he secured the lid on the container he was holding.

‘Done,’ he muttered, passing the jar full of brown smoke to Ubwig, who in turn passed it to Quibley, who stood up and carefully took it over to the many shelves which were now beginning to fill up.

Quibley pulled the sheet of sticky labels from out of one of his pockets and took a felt tip from another. Number 769, he wrote before sticking the label on the jar and placing it next to number 768 on the top shelf.

The Mares

‘What’s in there?’

‘Well...’ Ponkle hesitated, wondering if he could trust a girl wearing checked pyjamas. ‘Oh, alright. I don’t suppose I could be in any more trouble than I am already.’

Ponkle was extremely weary. He was perched on the end of the bed and rapidly losing heart. George gave him a comforting smile.

‘They’re mares,’ he said at last, staring at the floor.

‘What?’ said George, soundin worried.

She didn’t like this any more. She desperately pinched herself. Yet to her utmost dismay, she didn’t wake up. She was beginning to get scared.

Ponkle shrugged his shoulders. He had been contemplating his actions for a short while now and had decided that this was his only option. Well, the only option which meant he might still be alive at this time tomorrow anyway. He stood up, walked over to George and firmly grasped her arm.

‘Look, I’m very sorry to inconvenience you but I promise it wont take long,’ he said, leading her back to the bed. ‘All you need to do is go back to sleep.’

Ponkle liked to think that he had a dominant streak. George, however, thought differently and squirmed out of his grip.

‘Keep away from me!’ she said calculatingly, ‘or I do one of two things. Either I run downstairs and tell my mother there’s a burglar in the house...or I stand right here and scream as loud as I can. Your choice.’

Ponkle sunk down onto the soft bed, his spirit well and truly deflated. He did not enjoy his job but he could just about perform it when the creatures were asleep. He had never encountered a real human in a waking state before. He felt exceedingly bad about the whole thing.

‘Well?’ threatened George.

‘Um.. to be honest, I think I’d prefer it if you didn’t do either of those things,’ said Ponkle on the verge of tears.

‘Then explain to me what all this is about,’ said George warily.

Ponkle saw no point in hiding the truth now. He didn’t think there was a fate worse than death. He didn’t think even the Judgess could manage that! Unless you counted being wrapped up and delivered to the Mountain Gubwats as a new plaything......he imagined that would be slightly worse.

‘Well,’ started Ponkle...and then there was no stopping him. ‘Judge Biffleworth went and fell in love…even married her…died a couple of weeks after the ceremony…broken heart, some say…witnesses say she turned into a snake….sucked the very life from him…now she rules over the Kingdom of Valdox……Stop that!’ he yelled at the sack which was slowly squirming towards a captivated George.

George gasped as Ponkle pulled her away from the advancing brown sack and sat her down next to him.

‘They’ve got a mind of their own,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s the trouble with magic. Tolita thinks that eventually she will be able to control everyone’s minds. You’re next. Wants to rule all the Worlds. These things are just the beginning. A small taster of things to come.’

George was finding this somewhat hard to take in.

‘Us? What does she want with us? …..And what do you mean, Worlds?’ said George.

‘Oh, never mind that. Yes, I’m sure she’ll find some good use for you, there’s always vacancies for Invention testers,’ chuckled Ponkle.

‘Invention testers?’

‘Oh, there are plenty of jobs going if you’ve got the right qualifications.’

Things were getting too much for George. She rapidly pulled herself up off the bed and walked swiftly over to a wooden chest of drawers at the side of the square room. She opened the top drawer and reached in. Her hand returned with a pair of blue and white striped socks.

‘Well, it’s been an experience meeting you,’ said George nearly losing her balance whilst trying to put a sock on her left foot, ‘but I’m afraid you must leave now as I’m going to be late for school.

‘No..No..No!’ Ponkle protested, his brain telling him that letting the girl go at this stage would be his biggest mistake yet. Especially since he hadn’t delivered the goods. She’d want an explanation. Wait, he had an idea. He wondered where in goodness name it had come from. The girl could simply tell the Judgess that she wouldn’t co-operate.

Before George realised what was happening, Ponkle had grabbed the sack in one hand and was now speedily coming towards her. She had only got the second sock halfway up her foot when, to her utter disbelief, she was thrown over Ponkle’s free shoulder. The next minute they were gone.

Umpwiffle

Umpwiffle snored.

The previous nights events had proved a little too much for this tired Trungler. He was presently enjoying a moment of peace and quiet, his mind filled with a re-assuring blackness, no thoughts came or went. Umpwiffle was temporarily happy.

Yet something began knocking on the door of Umpwiffle’s mind. The mysterious something guessed that no-one was home and a hazy shadow slipped through the keyhole. Once inside, it started to grow, forming vivid pictures, filled with all the colours of the spectrum. Then, as if someone had released the pause button, they all began to move. The shapes grew voices that were painfully loud and shrill. Umpwiffle’s mind was invaded by a multitude of noise and figures which were now dancing in a circle. Each dancing shape held a bunch of blossoming Fogflops and at regular intervals they began blowing their seeds all over the inside of his head.

‘Aaa-aaa-Chew!’ blasted the unsuspecting Umpwiffle and awoke to find himself face to foot with Tolita.

‘Perhaps that will make you think twice about napping when there’s work to be done,’ she laughed triumphantly, tightly holding the lid on the cone shaped container which she held carefully in one hand. ‘There’s a whole field of Fogflops in here,’ she continued, ‘just so you don’t get any more clever ideas’. There was more than a hint of smugness in her voice.

Tolita knew most creatures weaknesses. It was a shame for Umpwiffle that he was allergic to Fogflops and that every time he caught a sniff he sneezed so hard that his head nearly turned inside out.

The Judgess frowned as she watched the snivelling fool shuffle back to his bench. Feeling the eyes burning into the back of his head, Umpwiffle dutifully commenced noting down and then storing away the bizarre collection of materials which were situated on his work-top. Tolita shifted her attention to take in the entire surroundings of her productivity workshop. There were ninety-two Trunglers in all, each with their own job, designed to make the operation successful. Next to some Trunglers benches were wooden boxes - exactly like those stolen from the Moloks earlier that morning, except now they were empty.

Tolita understood power.